


A Gentlemen's Agreement - Pt. 1

by TheNightComesDown



Series: A Gentlemen's Agreement [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Clubbing, F/M, Queen AU, Queen Fic, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 18:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17872715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: As a bartender in an exclusive London strip club, you meet Queen's bassist John Deacon. At a particularly lonely time in John's life, he offers you an arrangement - companionship in exchange for financial compensation. Although John asks for only platonic conversation, you have a feeling this will become something more.





	A Gentlemen's Agreement - Pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Tumblr users @Crazy-Little-Cool-Cat and @theglowissodivine for their input on the subject and content of this story!
> 
> As always with my AU storylines, I mean no disrespect to the people whose lives the characters follow - I am creating a fictional representation of their lives using accessible information such as interviews, news articles, etc.

**LONDON // JULY 1990**

On a Saturday night, the volume in the club was cranked loud enough to vibrate glasses right off the bar counter. Overturned shot glasses littered the counter; they clinked musically in your hands as you stacked them. The men at the bar had their backs to you, as was usual for this time of night. At centre stage, Miss Lacey commanded the attention of nearly all the club’s patrons. 

A group of young men celebrating a stag night were seated at the base of the stage, and the groom was receiving an eyeful as Lacey knelt down before him, discarding her bra and shaking her glittering, tasselled pasties in his face. At the bar, a few regulars hooted and hollered, greatly enjoying the display. An impatient fellow tapped his hand on the bar, indicating that he was ready for another gin and tonic. So long as you kept the drinks coming at a steady pace, you didn’t get into much trouble as a bartender at one of London’s most exclusive strip joints. 

“Hurry it up, baby!” the man called out, leaning over the counter to get a better view of your backside. Tonight you had decided on a classic outfit: short leather skirt, thigh-high fishnet stockings, a sheer, white button-up cropped just below your bra, and ribbon-tied pigtails. The girl who’d trained you at the bar had taught you a trade secret during your first shift: the schoolgirl look brings in crazy tips. Lately, you’d almost thought about bringing in a ruler to swat at wandering hands. The club’s owner had made it very clear to all his employees that the girls behind the bar were off-limits; unfortunately, the patrons hadn’t seemed to receive this memo. 

“Jack and Coke,” you said, your voice sickly sweet. He slapped a fiver on the counter, but pulled it away as you reached for it. 

“Come get it, baby,” he invited, flashing you a toothy grin. As annoyed as you were by this kind of behaviour, you needed the money; your schooling wasn’t going to pay for itself. With a swish of your head, you flicked your hair back over your shoulders. You undid two of the buttons on the front of your shirt, revealing the lacy pink bra you wore beneath; it perfectly matched the ribbons in your hair. Slowly, you leaned forward, reaching again for the 5£ note. The man eyed your breasts, which were nearly spilling out of the cups of your bra. 

As soon as you had hold of the note, you snatched it. You batted your eyelashes at him as you folded and tucked the paper into your bra, leaving it to peak out above the cup as a suggestion to other customers. 

“Thanks, hon,” you said, blowing him a kiss. He wouldn’t be getting any change back tonight. 

As Miss Lacey finished her set onstage, a waitress stepped in behind the counter to speak with you. 

“Y/N, have you got a minute?” she asked, setting a tray of empty glasses on the back counter. Ailís had been on her feet all night in four-inch heels, and she was desperate for a break. 

“Sure, what’s up?” 

“There’s a fellow over in one of the VIP booths, says he’d like to have a word with you,” Ailís murmured, pointing towards the back wall of the club. A series of curtains hung from the wall, providing a few ‘private viewing areas’ for the club’s best-paying clients. 

“Tell him I just tend bar,” you shrugged, wiping up a puddle of beer with a cloth. “I don’t dance for a reason.” 

“I told him that,” she explained, “but he says he just wants to talk.” 

“That’s what they all say,” you laughed. “We all know where talking gets you.” 

“Yeah, but this guy’s got real money.” 

“How do you know that?” you scoffed, looking at your friend suspiciously. “Anyone can say he has money. Even guys in fancy clothes can be liars.” Although you were set on remaining behind the counter, you cast a curious glance over towards the curtained booths. 

“See, that’s the thing,” Ailís said. “He’s the plainest fellow I’ve seen in here. He’s got on a plain pair of trousers and a Christmas jumper.” 

“It’s July,” you frowned. “What the hell has he got a Christmas jumper on for?” 

“Couldn’t tell you,” she shrugged. “But now I’m curious, and I need you to go see what he wants.” You tossed a dishrag into the sink, having mopped up a second spilled drink. A man had turned around and elbowed his mate’s beer, shattering the glass. The other bartender was attending to the mess, and Ailís didn’t seem to be going anywhere. As it neared closing time, the club’s patrons weren’t ordering drinks as fast as they had been earlier, which freed her up to help the bar staff. 

“I’ll go,” you sighed, agreeing only to appease her curiosity, “but if I’m not back in 10 minutes, call Dan.” The bar’s manager was very protective of all the girls, and his attentiveness to the whereabouts of his employees proved useful in such an environment – things did get out of hand at times, especially when alcohol was involved. 

Ailís waved supportively to you as you stepped out from behind the bar. When you passed a table of rowdy regulars, one man whistled in your direction. You had learned to drown out the bawdy comments of patrons, but couldn’t help it when your eyes flickered in the direction of loud sounds. To your relief, everyone kept their hands to themselves as you walked across the floor towards the VIP booths. When you were only a few strides from the curtain, you quickly glanced around in search of Dan, the club manager. He wouldn’t be particularly happy to see you stepping behind the curtains, as this wasn’t your job. Satisfied that he was otherwise busy, you stepped up into the enclosed booth and pulled the curtain shut. 

The small room was dimly lit by a purple light strip, which hung from the ceiling. A cushioned bench stretched from wall to wall against the back of the booth, and a short cocktail table provided space to set down a drink. Seated in the centre of the bench was a slim man, his expression serious. He looked to be around 40; his hair was slicked back, revealing a slightly receding hairline. As Ailís had mentioned, he was dressed casually, the sleeves of his green striped jumper rolled to his elbows. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” you asked politely. To your surprise, the man didn’t look you up and down as other men at the bar had done all night. His expression softened as he cleared his throat. 

“Have you got time for a chat?” he inquired meekly, shifting towards the wall. This left space for you to sit an appropriate distance from him; he was a stranger to you, after all. 

“I’m tending bar at the moment,” you said, pressing your lips together in confusion. “Is there another girl I could ask to take care of you? A dancer, perhaps?” 

“No, no,” he shook his head, vehemently opposed to the suggestion. “I just saw you across the way and…” he stopped, suddenly looking very nervous. 

“Sir?” you asked. Against your better judgement, you sat down on the cushioned bench. The man appeared to relax as you settled in. 

“You reminded me of someone,” he smiled, chuckling under his breath. “An old friend.” With trembling hands, he pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his trousers. “May I?” 

“Of course,” you nodded. “It’s allowed here.” He struck a match against the side of the box, snapping it in half as he pressed against the stem. 

“Fuck,” he grumbled. After a second and third attempt, he still couldn’t get it going. 

“Give it here,” you said gently. You plucked the cigarette from his lips and placed it in your mouth, and had a match started in seconds. Blowing a thin cloud of smoke towards him, you smiled and returned his cigarette. 

“Thanks,” he nodded gratefully. “Just a little nervous, is all.” 

“Do you come here often?” 

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Bit too loud for me most days.” 

“So you came on the busiest night of the week?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. “Everywhere is busy on a Saturday night.” 

“You work here on Saturday nights,” he replied simply, as if stating a well-known fact. If anyone else had said this, you would have felt as though you were being followed, watched. This man, though, was somehow different. 

“Almost always,” you acknowledged. 

“I’m John, by the way,” he said suddenly, holding out a hand towards you. 

“Y/N,” you smiled, shaking his hand. His fingers were calloused and rough against your skin. “So you wanted to talk to me, John,” you reiterated, releasing his hand. “I’m just a bartender, so if you’re looking for something more, I can’t really help you with that.” John nodded as if he understood, but made no move to dismiss you. You sat in silence, which was somehow not awkward. It was nice to sit with a man who wasn’t tearing at your clothes. 

“What do you do when you aren’t here?” he wondered, sitting forward attentively. “School? Another job, maybe?” 

“I finished my teacher’s training a few months ago,” you responded. “Just waiting for the summer holiday to be over so I can start my new job.” 

“Lovely,” John commented. He crossed his legs at the ankles, appearing more settled now. “Any siblings, children, elderly parents?” 

“No siblings, no children, Mum still lives in Whitechapel,” you answered, tilting your head curiously. “Do you live in the area, John?” 

“My wife and I lived in Putney for a while,” he nodded, “but I’ve got a flat somewhere a bit quieter now.” 

“Oh, you’re married?” you exclaimed, glancing down at his left hand. He wore no ring, but that wasn’t always a good indicator nowadays. 

“ _Was_ married,” he corrected. “We separated about 2 years ago.” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“No, no,” he said, waving the comment away with a flip of his hand. “I don’t mind. Just didn’t want you to think…” 

“That you were coming to a place like this behind your wife’s back?” you suggested. “It’s not uncommon. I wouldn’t have judged.” 

“You think it’s alright for a man to do that?” he raised his eyebrows, surprised. 

“No, I don’t,” you clarified. “I just don’t think it’s my place to judge.” 

“Let he among us without sin be the first to condemn,” he quoted softly. 

“Are you a religious man, John?” you asked. 

“Not really,” he shrugged. “My ex is Catholic, so I went along to Mass every now and again. You?” 

“I don’t think God frequents strip joints,” you smiled, shaking your head. “No, I don’t think all that’s for me. Although, if there were a god that paid student loans, I’d give him a chance.” John’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. 

Just then, a hand reached through the curtain and knocked against the wall of the booth. 

“Come in,” John called. The curtain was pulled open, and in walked Dan, the club manager (and your employer). 

“Everything alright here, Y/N, Mr. Deacon?” Dan questioned, looking from you to John. 

“We’re just having a chat, Dan,” you explained. “Do you need me back at the bar?” 

“No, Ailís is fine to take over for you,” he replied. “Could I have a quick word with you, though? My apologies, Mr. Deacon; I know how _entertaining_ Y/N can be.” Dan’s gaze roved over your body, pausing on your breasts before he looked back at John. 

“No problem,” John said coldly, unimpressed by your boss’s wandering eyes. You glanced at him and smiled apologetically. Dan nodded in John’s direction before descending the step back down to the main section of the club. 

“Sorry, I’ll only be a moment,” you assured John with a wink. “I’ll have one of the servers bring you another cocktail while you wait. It’s past last call, but I’ll work my magic.” You grabbed his empty glass and raised it to your face, giving it a sniff. “Southern Comfort?” 

“That’s an impressive trick,” he grinned. “Neat, please.” 

“Coming right up,” you replied, stepping out past the curtain. At the bottom of the step, you called out the server at the closest table to bring John’s drink. Dan had walked past the two VIP booths to the left of John’s and was leaning against the wall, waiting you, a sour expression on his face. As you approached, he moved away from the wall 

“What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?” he demanded, grabbing your arm. You let out a sharp cry as his fingers dug into your skin. 

“He asked one of the girls to send me over,” you defended angrily. “I thought maybe he had an issue with his drink or something. Ailís offered to cover for me because she wasn’t busy out on the floor.” 

“You know the rules, Y/N. You tend bar, so no one touches you.” 

“Get off my case, Dan,” you retorted. “He hasn’t touched me. Just wanted to talk.” The manager rolled his eyes and scoffed; he didn’t believe you. 

“I pay you to mix drinks and wear short skirts, sweetheart, not to talk,” he told you, shaking a finger in your face, “Mr. Deacon and his business partners are generous benefactors of this club, and that is the _only_ reason I’m letting you go back in there.” As Dan released your arm and strode back towards the bar, you stared daggers at the back of his head. _What a prick,_ you thought. 

A minute later, the waitress delivered John’s drink, patting you on the shoulder as she passed by. She, as well as several other members of the club staff, had watched your conversation with Dan. They wouldn’t say anything to higher management, but you knew it had not gone unseen. You took a moment to collect yourself before stepping back into John’s booth. 

“Whiskey neat, as requested,” you said, bending down and placing the glass on the table. John was on his feet, his expression serious once again. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice strained. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Your arm.” John reached out, brushing his fingers against the skin below your sleeve. “This is going to bruise,” he murmured. The skin was red where Dan’s fingers had grabbed you. 

“It’s nothing,” you deflected, avoiding his eyes. 

“It isn’t,” he insisted, guiding you to the cushioned bench with an outstretched hand. “Did you ask him to do that?” John reached out to put a hand on your knee, but stopped himself when he realized that it might make you uncomfortable. 

“He just wants to protect the girls,” you mumbled, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “There’s a no-touching rule for staff, other than the dancers.” 

“And he thinks I…” 

“Apparently,” you sighed, annoyed with the entire situation. 

“Should I let you get back to work, then?” he asked suddenly. “I don’t want to make any trouble for you.” 

“No!” you exclaimed. “No, it’s…” you trailed off, looking up into John’s eyes. His expression had softened, and the light above your heads brought out the streaks of silver at his temples. John really was a handsome man, even if he was probably 15 years older than you. With the idea of going back to the bar at the front of your mind, you realized that you had been enjoying the conversation before you were interrupted. 

“I have a proposition for you,” John said, breaking the silence. “A business deal of sorts. Would you hear me out?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, curious. 

“I travel a lot for work, so I don’t have a lot of time for meeting people,” he explained, choosing his words carefully as if protecting some sort of secret. “With my work, it makes maintaining a traditional relationship quite difficult, so…I’ve grown quite lonely.” 

“I can understand that,” you said sympathetically. 

“So…I guess what I’m looking for is a companion, of sorts,” he shrugged. “Just someone to talk to, spend a little time with when I’m not recording. Phone calls when I’m away, maybe.” You nodded slowly, not quite sure if you understood. 

“Recording?” you inquired, confused. “Dan said something about your business…what exactly do you do for work?” 

“Don’t worry about that just now,” he interjected. “What I’m asking is whether or not you’d be interested in spending time with me, outside of your work here, in exchange for compensation.” He stopped talking, allowing his words to sink in for a minute. 

“Compensation?” you asked finally. 

“Well, of course I wouldn’t expect you to give up your time for nothing in exchange,” he snorted. “I’d set you up with an allowance, and check in with you each week to set up a time to meet. It would help with those student loans you mentioned.” You sat back against the bench, your mind racing. He couldn’t be asking you for _just_ conversation; there must be more to it. 

“Are you asking me to…have sex with you?” you asked softly. “I’m not that kind of girl, if that’s what you think.” 

“Oh god, no,” John said quickly, realizing how bad this sounded. “I’m sorry you even had to…no, of course not.” He placed his face into his hands, exasperated with himself. “I should go.” 

“No, please,” you cried, grabbing his forearm as he attempted to stand. “John, I’m sorry. I just…I’ve never thought about that kind of…arrangement, before.” 

“This was inappropriate of me,” he insisted. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” He seemed as though he wanted to get up, but wasn’t able to. His hands were trembling. 

“John, listen to me,” you instructed. He wouldn’t look at you, so with a gentle touch, you turned his face towards you. His chin was rough with stubble beneath your fingers, still short enough not to be visible. “I’m not upset. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. You’ve done nothing to make me uncomfortable, but I jumped to conclusions because…” you gave a short sigh, “Well, because I work in a strip club. Hundreds of men undress me with their eyes every day, and it makes me assume that all men are like that.” 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said glumly. “I come here with friends, sometimes alone, to try to feel something, some sort of companionship, but it just makes me feel empty or…numb, maybe.” Your hand had slipped down his arm as he spoke, and you now held his hand between yours. You couldn’t explain it, but for some reason, you felt deeply for the man beside you. 

“John, there’s no shame in being lonely,” you reassured him. “Even if you have good friends, it’s still so easy to feel isolated. So yes, I’ll do it.” John opened his mouth to protest, but you raised your eyebrows to silence him. “John, I’ve only just met you today, but there’s something telling me this is right,” you explained. “I want to do this for you. I have a few conditions, though. Will you hear them?” 

“Certainly.” 

“First, you have to tell me about your life. I hate the idea of not knowing who you are, especially when you _clearly_ are someone in the world,” you said, indicated the room around you. “I don’t want to find out from the tabloids that you’re a duke or fancy BBC journalist or something.” 

“Alright,” he nodded. “Sounds acceptable. 

“Second, an allowance is out of the question,” you insisted. “You aren’t my father, and I’d rather stay away from the term ‘daddy’ in relation to money. If you insist on compensating me, it’ll be reasonable, and only for the time we’re together during the week.” 

“Ugh,” he shuddered, “that’s not a word I want to hear from anyone but my children.” You must have looked shocked, because he started to laugh, a bright, breathy sound that brought a smile to your face. 

“Yes, I have children, Y/N,” he told you. “Four, in fact. They live with my wife, and I see them as often as I can.” 

“There we are,” you said encouragingly, hoping your shock hadn’t offended him. “That’s something personal about you.” You ran his words over in your head, making sure you heard him right. “Four? You have four children?” 

“I do,” he smiled. “My oldest is fifteen, and the youngest is seven.” 

“Incredible,” you said, shaking your head. “You don’t look old enough for that.” 

“The grey’s starting to show,” he laughed, combing a hand through his hair, “but I certainly don’t feel that old.” 

“So yes, those are my conditions,” you finished. “Seems to me you’re in agreement.” 

“I am,” he nodded. “Can I tell you mine?” 

“Go right ahead,” you invited. He took a long sip of his drink before he continued. 

“As you can maybe guess, I’m someone who tends to be in the public eyes,” he explained. “I play for a band that’s decently popular in the UK, as well as a few other countries. So in the event the media approaches you, I’d appreciate if you’d say you’ve never heard the name ‘John Deacon’. It’s in the best interest of us both, really.” 

“The name will not pass my lips,” you promised. “Not to a friend, nor to the homeless chap who lives at my bus stop.” An amused glint appeared in John’s eyes for a moment, but as he moved on to his next thought, his face grew serious. 

“My other condition is that you end this if you meet someone,” he said, glancing down at your hands, which still held his. “I don’t want to make trouble for you, and I don’t want you to continue it out of a feeling of obligation. You can back out at any time, and I won’t be offended.” 

“Yes,” you replied. “I accept your conditions.” You grasped his hand in a firm handshake, sealing the deal. “What does your schedule look like this week?” 

“Well, I’ve got an interview on Tuesday morning, and we’re recording Wednesday to Friday,” he thought aloud, going through his calendar in his mind. “Would Tuesday evening work well to go for coffee?” 

“Definitely,” you replied. John reclaimed his hand, using it to take out his wallet from his back pocket. He furrowed his brow in concentration as he fished around for a slip of paper, finally deciding on a tattered business card from a lawn care company. 

“Could you write your phone number for me? I’ll give you a call on Monday to confirm.” You pulled a pen from the waistband of your skirt and jotted your name and number down. 

“Nearly closing time, isn’t it?” you asked, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “It doesn’t feel that late to me.” 

“I reckon it’s time for an old geezer like me to turn in for the night,” he responded. “Don’t let any of these chaps make trouble for you, Y/N.” You rose from your seat as he stood, breathing in the warm scent of his cologne as he leaned in to place a chaste kiss on your cheek. 

“Have a good night, John,” you wished him, your heart beating a little faster. He smiled at you before pulling the curtain open and stepping down onto the main floor. He wove his way past the few men who were finishing their drinks for the night, careful not to bump anyone. You stood at the edge of the booth, watching him as he paid his tab at the bar. When he reached the door, the glanced over at you, meeting your eyes for only a moment before the bouncer opened the door wide, releasing him into the night. 

* * * * * 

As you set a tray of empty glasses onto the bar counter, Ailís looked up from the sink, where she was rinsing out the blender. 

“Holy shit, Y/N,” she explained, checking over your shoulder to ensure your conversation wouldn’t be overheard. “Tell me everything.” 

“He just wanted to talk,” you shrugged nonchalantly. “Wasn’t anything particularly exciting. Just a lonely fellow, I guess.” Ailís regarded you with a look of disbelief. 

“Really, you just talked?” she raised an eyebrow. “Left a pretty good tip for just talking.” She reached into her apron and pulled out a 100£ note, slapping it on the counter in front of you. 

“Are you fucking joking?” you asked, grabbing the note and inspecting it. 

“He insisted,” Ailís said, turning on the tap. “I’d put that away before Dan sees it, though. If he sees you bringing in money like that, he’ll have you dancing before you can blink.” You tucked the note discreetly into your bra and returned to the task at hand. To your relief, Dan didn’t make another appearance before the end of the shift. Ailís’s boyfriend was waiting outside the club when you were finished for the night, and as usual, he dropped you off outside your Poplar flat. 

After locking the door and setting your bag down, you noticed the light flashing on your answering machine. Your mother usually called on Wednesdays, and you had paid your bills on time, so this was out of the ordinary. You grabbed a pad and paper to record the message before pressing ‘play’. 

“Hello, Y/N. John here,” a familiar voice rang out, “just wanted to apologize for what I know you’ll think is an unreasonable tip.” You chuckled to yourself, because he was right. “Anyhow, thanks again for tonight, and enjoy the rest of your weekend. Cheers.” With a smile, you rewound the tape. As you slipped out of your work outfit and into the large pyjama shirt you had thrown on the sofa earlier that day, the floorboards down the hall creaked, startling you. The floors didn’t usually creak – someone was in the flat with you. 

“Who’s there?” you called out, stepping into the kitchen to grab a knife, or the rolling pin – whatever was handy. Footsteps padded slowly along the hardwood, and a sleepy voice answered your question. 

“I thought you quit at the bar, sis.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reader lied about not having siblings, and John is lying to himself if he doesn't think this is going any further. Stay tuned, this will be updated in the next few days, after Mother to Son pt. 6 is posted!


End file.
